Ahoy, Mateys!

Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Now I'm a Stalker, darn it.

I got to meet one of my internet idols yesterday. DreadPirate has been reading blogs for a long time, and I just didn't see the appeal. Of course, most of the ones he reads deal with news or politics - and I get enough of both of those without seeking out even more online. I was craving bagels a while back, though, and when I did a search for one of my favorite brands to see if they were in my town yet I stumbled on internet gold. I'm still sorry there's no Einstein Bros. Bagels here (except at Target) but at least they led me to a great blog - and, you know, Brueggers is a pretty good substitute for Einstein's, though I miss their five cheese bagels.

Miss Zoot's blog is hilarious. She is the reason I actually started reading blogs, and the reason I decided to try my hand at one.

DreadPirate and I were at Target with our son after a soccer game yesterday. DreadPirate called my cell phone when I was a few aisles away from them, which I thought was weird. He said that he thought he had just seen Miss Zoot go by, and he thought I might want to go see if it really was her. I had visions of that site where people track celebrities and report where they've seen them so everyone can go gawk at them (which I hate, by the way!) and I proved I'm no better than those people cause off I went to see if I could spot her.

Sure enough, it was her! And she was just as nice in person as she seems online. I felt strange about approaching her but I'm glad I did. I have enjoyed her blog so much, and I was glad to be able to tell her that.

It's about time!

Well, my car is finally getting better. We had to get a new battery and a ton of different fuel additives, but it runs again. It still looks terrible, and the brakes don't seem to want to work quite right, but it's better than it was. Still a lot to do till it's back to normal, but at least we're making progress.

And better yet, my husband, DreadPirate, is taking it seriously. Finally. I know I overreacted about it, and I'm sorry about that - but I think he finally appreciates the fact that it IS a big deal to me, even if it wouldn't be to any other normal human being. He knew when we met that I wasn't a normal human being, though, so he can't claim now that he didn't know what he was getting himself into. Our curtains don't match anything in our house? Fine. The house looks like it was decorated by a fifth grader? No problem. My fingernails look like they got caught in a shredder? Who cares. But my car gets messed up or the cable goes out? It's a disaster of epic proportions. That's just par for the course in the Pirate household.

Lost Experience

I am completely hooked on the show "Lost". I'm also a big fan of conspiracy theories and of video games. I've been dreading the season finale of "Lost" because I'll have horrible withdrawal symptoms if I have to face a whole summer with no new "Lost" content.

That's why I'm so excited about the new "Lost Experience". If you like "Lost" you should check it out. It sounds like it's going to be good.

Don't call me that!

There are some things that you should never call anyone. Things that are just too horrible, too insulting and cruel to inflict on anyone, even your worst enemy. Someone called me one of those things and I somehow managed not to kill them, but I'm still trying to recover from it.

I hate even to say it, but I will just so you can understand why I'm so upset.

A soccer mom. She called me a soccer mom.

I do understand that there are some people who don't mind being called soccer moms. But you know what? It's because they ARE soccer moms and so they don't realize how horrible it is.

I don't cheer at soccer games - I can't, because my usual sports-watching chant is "Kill them, crush them, maim them!" and I just don't think it's approproate at a kids soccer game. I can't control it, though, so I just have to keep my mouth clamped shut.

I don't want to go to a Pampered Chef party, a makeup party, a Tupperware party, or ANY party where a bunch of women sit around and talk about housework and their children.

I play video games. For fun. Because I want to. I even know about video games, and I just have to grit my teeth when the other moms start talking about how violent and awful most games are. Or when they show that they have no clue what they're talking about.
They say things like "My son says there's a new video game thing - an X-Box? - that he wants. I saw one at Walmart and I might get him that for Christmas, but I don't know if it will work with our computer. I'll have to ask my husband."
It makes me want to scream. It's the 360, woman, and you didn't see it at Walmart because it wasn't out yet. And if it was, it would not work with your computer because it's a console that hooks to your TV you idiot! And by the way, why do you need to ask your husband? Can you not research it on your own? Or does the fact that its a 'video game thing' scare you too much?!

I do not have perfect, puffy hair. I do not wear nice slacks and seasonal sweaters every day. I don't like "easy listening" music exclusively. Or country music at all, which is a capitol offense around here. I don't watch "The View". I don't complain about having to take my child to an amusement park or action movie.

I like black leather and loud music. I wear black converse and jeans. I go to concerts and theme parks for ME, not my son. I do things for him, too, of course, but not always.

I didn't stop being me because I had a child. I would do anything for my son, but that doesn't mean that I now have no life other than him.

I am not one of these Stepfordized women who are all alike and can relate to each other so well. I don't like the things they like. Some of them I wouldn't have wanted as friends before I had a child and my tastes haven't changed just because I gave birth! Don't lump me in with them!!!

Not all moms are "soccer moms", even if their children play soccer. Soccer moms are those women who live only for their children and have lost all sense of themselves. No one likes those women. I don't even know if they like each other. I don't even know if they like themselves!

I'm still me. It's just that now I'm me, with a child. Who I wouldn't trade for anything. But I'm still me. Don't call me a soccer mom.